


Peaceful Revolution

by pteridophyte



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (which is to say clever and controlling and a little too sure of herself), Clara being Clara, F/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6792127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pteridophyte/pseuds/pteridophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara and Danny, stuck in the dungeons beneath a dictatorship for a day.</p>
<p>Or, why Miss Oswald is so smug in class on Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaceful Revolution

“Do you really think he’s comin’?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll think of something.”

 

The alien didn’t bother to knock. But then he didn’t talk either, just unlocked the door and pulled out a knife. He knelt in front of her.

Words weren’t necessary. Clara knew what he wanted: the escape route. He didn’t know it yet, but what he was looking for was the man with a red mark on one arm. 

Underneath was a microchip, which was connected to the teleport on the ship orbiting the planet. The mark blended in with dark skin. The skin of a maths teacher named Danny Pink.

Which was why Clara had to keep silent. If he heard her cry, or whimper or scream, Danny would try to stop the torture. And the only substitute they’d accept would be the answer. He’d tell them, he’d have to, and they’d cut the chip out of his arm and their escape route out of existence. Or maybe they’d just cut his arm straight off. It didn’t matter to them if he died.

The man knelt next to Clara and held up the knife. The grey reflection of the room tilted across its metal surface. Sharp. Long.

Clara instantly backed up, pressing into the wall and grinding her spine hard against it. Cringing.

She bit deep into her lip when the knife touched her.

 

Danny leaned his head against the cell wall, listening. If he pressed his ear hard enough, he could hear her talk. Maybe even the rustling if she moved around. “Clara? You home?”

“Yep, still here,” she answered.

Danny frowned and shoved his ear harder against the wall. Her breathing sounded labored. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

“Is that water dripping?”

“Yeah, I think there’s a,” short pause, a definite gasp, “broken pipe in here.”

“Oh. Well don’t forget, I’m here. Right here. If you need me.”

A sort of a tearing sound, a slap like a hand hitting the wall, almost a whimper.

“Clara?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, Danny. Just stay right there.”

 

If only it would stop dripping. She tried to push down on the cuts, but there were too many of them, too deep. Why wouldn’t it stop? It slipped past her fingers. Stop, just stop already! And now she was crying, too. Good going.

The man had put down his knife and was squatting, watching her. She’d talk to him, but it’s the one thing she couldn’t do. She couldn’t take the chance that her negotiation will fail, because with the first word Danny would know what was going on. The waver in her voice. She’d trade another pint of blood for someone who didn’t care if she was cut up.

He was moving. The man reached behind himself on the dusty floor and grabbed something. It clanked. Clara had never seen a meat hook in person before.

 

“Danny, I need you to promise me something.”

He jerked upright, pulling himself out of a half-doze. “Sure, anything.”

“No, really promise. On something important. On your life, my life, two dozen perfectly sharpened pencils, and my motorbike’s braking system.”

“Okay, I promise. On all those things. What am I promising?”

“You’re promising not to do anything after what I’m going to say.”

That got his heart beating. “Clara? What’s going on?”

“Shush. Sit still. I’m okay.”

 

Clara brought her head up and looked the torturer in the eye. It wasn’t a glare, was hardly even a stare. She didn’t need that sort of intimidation. “You’re not meant to leave the dungeons,” she stated. “Going a level above is an act of rebellion. But if something down here scares you off, that’s the only place you can go.”

He just looked at her.

“I’m going to bring your monarchy down with three questions.

“First: How many people have you tortured?”

Not even the twitch of a finger or a guilty glance at the ground. She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a movement of her head.

“Second. How many of them screamed and begged for mercy?”

Clara smiled around the blood from her bitten lip.

“And third: Why haven’t I made a sound?”

She flinched at the sound from the other cell. Danny hitting his fist against the wall.

 

Within ten minutes, the king had been overthrown.

 

“Clara,” Danny moaned to the wall. “What did you do?”

“All they needed was a little open-ended question,” came her voice. Tight and pained, now that she didn’t have to pretend.

“Someone was torturing you.”

“They were listening through the door, you know. The guards. All it took was two questions that they could answer and one that they couldn’t. Open enough that they could create all their own spectres to fill it.”

“How badly are you hurt?”

“One flash of terror pushed them over the edge. Light a fire in the basement and they’ll all run upstairs. They started a revolution and deposed of a king to get away from me.”

“Clara, please.” He was crying now, sobbing into the dusty stones.

“Danny. I’m…”

Fine must have been too big a lie even for her.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Just relax. I’ll get you out of there soon.” How long were the independence celebrations going to take?

 

Meat hooks. They strung her up with meat hooks. Not in the skin, in the shoulders. Deep into muscle, crushing veins, excruciating. Danny slipped the hooks off the chains and laid Clara down on the ground. He pulled the hooks out of her shoulders.

He pressed against the cuts to stop the bleeding, and she reached her arms up, around his neck, comforting. He cried into her.

 

Next Monday, Miss Oswald was back in class with patchwork scars and a smug smile. She’d started a revolution with twenty words.


End file.
